Past Forward- A Serial Novel: Volume 2

by Chautona Havig

  “It’s a privilege if it’s for Jesus who endured so much worse. Trust me, if you lived through it, you would have stood firm and come out a much stronger Christian. We all did.”

  “Right here in America. Who would have imagined!”

  Their discussion moved to more pleasant topics as Cheri swiped a mascara brush over her eyelashes and put on a light coat of lip-gloss. Willow felt damp from over warmth and pulled a fresh shirt and her tin of deodorant powder from her tote bag. “I’ll be right back.”

  When she returned, Cheri caught the slight whiff of lavender as Willow crossed the room. “Is that your perfume? It smells so clean.”

  “Deodorant.”

  “What brand?”

  Willow handed her tin of deodorant powder to Cheri and began unbraiding her hair. Cheri, intrigued by powdered deodorant, asked how she made it. “It smells so nice!”

  “It’s just a fifty-fifty solution of baking soda and cornstarch with some crushed lavender. Mother liked dried mint better.”

  “I’ll have to remember that when traveling. I might not be able to find my favorite brand, but cornstarch and baking soda should be easy enough to bring on a plane or buy at a store.”

  Willow flipped her hair over her head and rubbed the scalp well. As she reached for her brush, Cheri cried, “No! What are you doing?”

  “Brushing my mess.”

  “But it looks great like that. Why ruin it?”

  The memory of Chad’s reaction at the mid-summer’s faire caught her off guard. “He wasn’t teasing.”

  “What?”

  “Chad said something once when I unbraided my hair, and I thought he was mocking me—you know, in fun.”

  Adding this tidbit to her growing arsenal, Cheri nodded hands on hips. “Well he was right. You look cool.”

  “But if I don’t brush it out, it’ll stay kinky and wavy. My hair doesn’t hold curl anymore, but it does kink well from a braid.”

  Cheri ran her fingers through her own hair demonstrating how to arrange it. “Just run your fingers through to tame the couple of snarls and let it hang. If you had bangs, it might be a bit bushy but this works. It has that Sandra Bullock slash Drew Barrymore appeal—tousled but not messy.”

  Willow adjusted her skirt, tried to forget about her messy hair, and stood ready for inspection. “Will I do?”

  “That skirt is to die for. With boots, you’d be a walking advertisement for Boho. I’ve got to go see how that skirt looks on me in my size.”

  “This one didn’t come from there, but I’ll make you one if you like.”

  Cheri squealed and pushed Willow from the room. “Oh I’m going to like having you in the family.”

  “But I’m not—”

  “Pop said we’re adopting you as one of the family.” As Willow’s face drew tight with concern, Cheri added reassuringly, “He said no marriage license required!”

  As they started down the stairs, Cheri nudged her gently. “Look, Chuck is trying to be patient with Uncle Ed.”

  “That’s not like him at all,” Willow began, but Cheri cut her off.

  “And if Chad’s Adam’s apple bobs, you’ll know I was right about that hair.”

  Willow tried not to look. A significant part of her didn’t want to know, but like anyone, when told not to look, it was impossible to avoid. Chad glanced up from a photo album he shared with his grandmother and swallowed hard. He scooted closer to his grandmother to make room and jerked his head to the spot next to him.

  “Come see how cute I was.”

  Cheri grinned and pushed Willow towards the couch as she quipped, “Emphasis on the was, brother o’ my laddie.”

  Willow’s attention was immediately on the children in the pictures. She recognized Zeke and Libby and even Grandmother Tesdall, but miniature versions of Cheri, Chris, and Chad held her attention.

  At a quarter after six, Marianne called everyone to the table. Chad motioned for Willow to stay seated as he led his grandmother to her chair. His thoughtfulness and gentleness, while expected by Wanda Tesdall, charmed Willow. He returned immediately and escorted her to the table commenting quietly that her hair looked nice.

  “Cheri told me not to brush it out.”

  “Seems like I said something like that once, and you ignored me.”

  “Well, frankly, I’m not sure I agree with either one of you, and I don’t think I care if I look like Sandra or Barry someone or another, but I wasn’t going to be difficult about something so minor while a guest in your home.”

  As he pushed in her chair, Chad murmured, “I’ll remember to wait until you’re at my house next time I want you to do something.”

  Willow stared down at her plate, curious as to why one of the little folded squares was on top.

  “Ok, does everyone have a paper?” From the tone of his voice, she could tell that Christopher loved this part of Thanksgiving. Her eyes followed his as he said, “Libby, why don’t you read yours first?”

  “Ok, my words are practical wisdom. If I thought she’d be thankful for herself, I think I’d say it was Willow’s—it fits her perfectly—but I think she’s a little too modest for that.”

  “Hear, hear!” Chuck cried with loud applause. Cheri pulled his arms down and told him to shut up, sending titters around the table.

  “Well, I don’t know,” Libby continued. “It has to be about someone other than the person so someone is thankful for someone else who is wise. I—” She paused. “I know. And I’m not telling.”

  “It’s you! Someone said you’re wise. I’ve always said it,” Marianne announced triumphantly.

  Willow asked to see the note. “Well, it’s not Chad’s handwriting, or I would have said Chad. He’s always saying how wise his father is and how much common sense he has, so I would have guessed it was Chad being thankful for his father’s wisdom.”

  “You’re never coming back,” Chad protested. “You’re too good.”

  “But, it wasn’t his handwriting.”

  Libby smiled. “He disguised it well. Good one, Chad.” Seeing her brother choke up with emotion, Libby patted Ed’s arm and encouraged him to go next.

  Around the table, people guessed until Grandfather Tesdall read “commencement.” “My guess is Cheri since she graduates this spring.”

  “Nope! I was crayons remember?”

  Chris nudged Cheri and they exchanged knowing glances as Chad’s hand slipped from the table and squeezed Willow’s under the cloth. Chris piped up. “I think it’s Willow. She began a new life this year, and she’s practicing thankfulness for it.”

  “Practicing!” Chad protested.

  “He’s right,” she answered quietly. “I am deliberately thankful. It’s not spontaneous gratitude, but when I think about all the good that has come from the changes in my life, as much as I wish I could go back to last spring, I also don’t. I just wish I could have the changes and Mother.”

  The kitchen buzzer buzzed, sending nervous chuckles around the table. Chad’s mother smiled. “Rolls are done; we can continue after dinner is served. Cheri?”

  Libby rose with Cheri and Marianne and disappeared into the kitchen. One look at Willow’s face told Chad she was about to lose control. Without a word, he stood and pulled out her chair for her. “Excuse us.”

  Taking her hand, he led her from the room, up the stairs, and into the guest room shutting the door behind them. Tears were already splashing down her cheeks. “I’m sorry Chad—it’s such a happy day for everyone, and I’m just being ungrateful.”

  He held her as she cried until a new thought crossed his mind. “I didn’t think, Willow. I know how important holidays were to you and your mother. I didn’t think about the fact that this is your first big holiday without her.”

  Her sobs grew deeper and more heart-wrenching. Chad tried to comfort her but was unable to be much help. He pushed her onto the end of the bed and handed her a pillow. “Hold onto that. Just hold on for a minute.”

  Downstairs, he grabbed
Libby’s arm and pulled her away from the sideboard, whispering something in her ear. Libby’s eyes glanced at the stairs, and she nodded. She untied her apron, tossed it over the back of her chair, and hurried up the stairs to the guest room.

  As sorry as Cheri was for Willow’s pain, she couldn’t help a certain amount of satisfaction over the wet patches and wrinkled spots from obvious grips on Chad’s shirt. One look at her mother squelched that satisfaction. Marianne, however, looked unnerved, and she knew why. The last time Chad had shown half the care and concern for someone that he showed for Willow, Linnea Burrell had accused him of shredding her heart for the fun of it.

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Christopher Tesdall called a final goodbye to his brother, Ed as he drove away, and shut the door. “Well, another year, another Thanksgiving.”

  “Luke just called, he’ll be over at four to pick up you guys,” Marianne called from the kitchen.

  “It’s just sick.”

  “What is,” Willow asked curiously.

  “They’ll be out in the freezing cold for a few cheap deals.”

  The blank expression on Willow’s face didn’t change. “Where are they going and why?”

  Chad shoved a Black Friday ad at her as he plopped on the carpet at Willow’s feet. “Day after Thanksgiving sales. Mom and Cheri hate ‘em. Doesn’t make sense but they do. Dad, Chris, and I love ‘em. All Christmas shopping done in one stop, at the best prices, and we make the retailers happy by giving them a great sales day. However, our shopping fiends don’t like it.”

  “You like to shop but not tomorrow?”

  Marianne’s impatience with her husband and sons was evident. “They don’t shop, they hunt. The store is the hunting grounds, the items are the game, and their speed is their weapon. They get in, go for the kill, and get out. No thought whatsoever in their purchase. Just grab, wrap, and bow.”

  “Ooh good one Mom!”

  “So, are you a ‘drag it out as long as possible and spend twice as much time and money’ like the girls, or do you have a little common sense like us,” Chris challenged.

  “I don’t think I’m either. I think I’m more of a ‘make it up as I go’ kind of giver.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Cheri, that means she’s a diplomat,” Christopher insisted. “Smart girl, this one.”

  “No, I just wouldn’t know where to look or what to buy.” She glanced at Chad and snickered. “I think I’d just stand in the store, spin in circles, and walk out without anything.”

  “So you didn’t celebrate or did mail order or what?”

  Willow passed Chad a pillow. “We made a lot of our gifts.”

  Intrigued, Christopher leaned back in his recliner, one arm behind his head, and encouraged her to tell them more. “What did you get for Christmas last year?”

  Smiling at the memory of her mother’s excitement, Willow said, “Fishing line.”

  Smiles and nods plastered the faces around them until Chad said, “You look like it was one of your favorite presents ever, why?”

  “Because it was her last one, stupid,” Cheri muttered jabbing her brother in the ribs.

  “No, because it was such a sacrifice for her.”

  Marianne, Cheri, and Chris stared at one another in horror. “Why a sacrifice?” Chad’s probing surprised her at first, and then Willow realized what he must be doing.

  “Well, because it wasn’t just about buying more fishing line. We probably had plenty. With that gift, she gave some of her free time so I could spend the summer fishing. It was something to look forward to.” She turned to Chris, “What was your favorite Christmas present?”

  “Charlie.”

  “You loved that crazy robot!” Cheri exclaimed. “I woke up every morning for ages hearing, ‘Greetings, what shall we do today?’ in that awful digital monotone.”

  Chris grinned at the memory. “That robot has saved me from much heartache. Any woman who comes into my house and disses Charlie doesn’t get invited back.” He nudged his sister. “How about you?”

  Unlike Chris, Cheri had to think about her answer. “My first instinct was to say my Diaper Darlin’ Dolly. I really liked feeding her and changing her diapers, but I truly think my favorite gift was camp.”

  A hush descended over the room. Willow knew instinctively that Cheri meant the camp she’d been prevented from attending by the bus hijackers. Christopher rubbed his hand across his forehead surreptitiously wiping away tears as he did. “You have no idea how hard we prayed over that decision. We always wonder if you resent us for it.”

  “Of course not! It was the best summer of my life. It was horrible but so wonderful. I guess I never thanked you. I’m sorry.”

  Amazed, Willow watched as Cheri flung herself into her father’s arms settling into them on his lap. Her heart tugged in directions she’d never imagined. The relationship of father and daughter was something she couldn’t fathom. It was—she smiled at the first word that came to mind—inconceivable. Imagining her relationship with the Lord as an equivalent failed. The idea of the Lord’s arms wrapped around her so lovingly and protectively was impossible to grasp.

  Self-recrimination also flooded Willow’s heart. The story of Cheri’s abduction and persecution horrified Willow. She’d been thankful for a protective mother and a sheltered world where that kind of harm was nearly impossible. Even seeing the growth that Cheri obviously experienced didn’t warm Willow to the idea that such beauty and good could come from a horrifying experience, and she certainly was willing to be a weaker Christian if it meant safety from spiritual torture.

  Anxious to change the subject, Willow nudged Chad’s knee with her foot. “What was your favorite gift?”

  “My sheriff set.”

  Chris and Cheri erupted in laughter. While they joked about him never growing up, Willow watched a silent exchange between Chad and his father. “Why is it so funny? I would think that’s a perfect gift for him.”

  “He was sixteen!” gasped Cheri as she went off into further gales of laughter. “He never did get that it was a joke.”

  Willow’s quiet voice pierced through the hilarity. “I think that you two missed the punch line then.”

  “Huh?”

  Chad shook his head. “Don’t worry about it, Willow.”

  “I will worry about it!” she insisted. “Your parents gave him that set as a way of telling Chad that they’d support him in his dream even if they didn’t understand it, and I think it’s beautiful.”

  The Tesdall family watched amused as Chad squeezed Willow’s foot and smiled gratefully at her. “It’s ok. They know what I mean even if these twits don’t get it.”

  Calling for hot chocolate orders, Cheri escaped to the kitchen to avoid showing her amusement. Marianne, desperate to change the discussion before her emotions spun out of control, redirected the questions back to Willow. “Your gifts seem unique Willow, what other gifts have you received?”

  “From Mother?”

  “Well, I assumed—”

  Smiling brightly, Willow plunged into a description of birthdays, Valentine’s Days, and Christmases. “Well, I think some of my favorites were probably my tree blocks, Chinese Checkers, and my shower cap.”

  “You got a shower cap for Christmas?” Marianne’s disbelief was almost comical.

  “The year mother put in a shower for me she gave me a shower cap for Christmas. I love that shower cap. I still have it.”

  “Why is it so special to you?” The psychologist in Chris came out in full force.

  “Because it was mother saying that she embraced the shower, not just tolerated it. Mother didn’t like showers. She loved baths, but she put that showerhead in just for me.”

  Cheri, calling from the kitchen, asked, “What are tree blocks?”

  “Mother took the smallest branches from trees we used for wood and cut logs, intersections, slices for floors and things like that, sanded them, oiled them well, and gave them to me. They’re like buildi
ng blocks that create a tree house or fort or whatever you want it to be. I still bring it and my fairies out and decorate it with tea lights at Christmas.” She frowned and murmured, “I wonder if I should make more tea lights…”

  “Fairies?”

  “Mother made them. I made angel fairies one year but they weren’t as pretty as Mother’s.”

  The clock chimed ten before the men finally dragged themselves off to bed. Willow and Cheri changed into pajamas and started the slumber party rituals while Marianne mixed a batch of brownies. The night had just begun.

  Thirty minutes later, Willow sat with a bowl of popcorn, a batch of brownies, and green goop on her face watching the fascinating world of internet communication as Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks sparred over caviar. Cheri rolled her hair in hot rollers and peeled the goop from Willow’s face leaving it red and raw; however, after a slathering of deep moisturizing cream, she felt rejuvenated.

  By the time Joe Fox and Kathleen Kelly faced off in the coffee shop, Willow’s hair bounced around her head in curls that rapidly drooped into nearly non-existent waves. “I told you my hair didn’t curl. It kinks, but not curls.”

  After Brinkley brought the couple together, Cheri led Willow to the guest room and turned down the covers. “I’m really glad you came, Willow,” she began. “You’re good for us. You’re really good for Chad, but you’ve been good for us as well.”

  Unsure of what else to say, Willow smiled half-heartedly and whispered, “Thank you. I’ve enjoyed being here.”

  Once Cheri left, Willow curled under the covers and reached for the lamp only to remember that there was none. She scrambled from the bed, snapped off the light switch, banged her knee into the footboard, and crawled back into bed muttering, “It’s illogical to put the switch across the room so you have to cross it blindly when you’re already tired. Lamps are better.”

  Sleep held back—taunting her. The bed was comfortable, the pillows fluffy, and Cheri’s pajamas were the most comfortable thing Willow had ever worn to bed, but her mind refused to quiet down and let her rest. The hum of the furnace and the periodic blasts of air rattled vent covers, keeping her mind spinning. Sirens wailed now and then, and dogs barked and howled at odd times.